Miles to Babylon
by Synonymia
Summary: Alas, great city... Rufus Shinra’s kingdom of dust and memories.


**Miles to Babylon**

_"Alas, alas that great city Babylon, that mighty city! For in one hour is thy judgment come."_ (Revelation 18:10)

**(V)**

He would never think it possible, the sight before his eyes; great city torn asunder. He could never have even imagined such a possibility. Not even during his imaginative youth -- days spent pondering grim, calculated futures, nights spent dreaming up a forestalled legacy.

And he could barely believe it, standing amidst the wreckage, almost as if not believing it would undo the truth. As if thinking made it so. Mind over matter. It got him out of a hospital bed and down to the still-uncleared chaos of Midgar, but it couldn't do anything for the jagged, fallen buildings and the scorched earth beneath his feet. The wreckage and debris was still, cooled and yet he could still imagine it smoking all around him. He could smell the sulfur and taste the ashes of his kingdom.

Rufus Shinra's great kingdom of dust and memories.

His everything now reduced to nothing.

**(IV)**

Reno had to be crazy to agree with the unfeeling – almost disturbingly placid request that had escaped Rufus Shinra's lips. It was delivered low, gaze belying nothing and directed entirely upon a small bouquet of flowers, compliments of Elena. He had to be crazy. There was no other explanation. The company was toast.

Literally.

Smoldering, overcooked toast so burnt that no amount of scraping could…

Reno hadn't eaten much that morning. His mind was elsewhere; his appetite non-existent like the company he swore allegiance to. Everything that remained was there within the walls of that hospital.

And if Reno's common sense was a bit askew, it had to be understandable.

But to escort the near-fatally wounded president of the now defunct Shinra Corporation down to ground zero. The once all powerful man, now swathed pitifully in bandages of white rather than his more traditional garb?

"Sure thing, boss."

Crazy indeed.

**(III)**

Elena hadn't known the president long, but she did know how much he _meant_ to everyone, despite their general taciturn dispositions.

She supposed that times like these wore away everyone's facades. Sleepless nights and consciousness threadbare -- held together only by countless cups of stale hospital coffee and hope and near eternal waiting.

Tseng had never looked so tired…

And she understood, but she still felt helpless.

Elena was talkative. She _wasn't_ adept at playing the supportive one and she _didn't_ want to fumble meaningful gestures by nervously blurting condolences. Not even when the tension lessened and her comatose employer finally awoke.

So when she brought him a bouquet of flowers from the hospital gift shop, she hoped it spoke for itself as well as her own jumbled thoughts.

And when she caught glimpse of a smile flickering wearily upon Rufus' face, she knew – times like these brought out the truth.

**(II)**

Rude handled these trying moments with more grace than his fellow Turks, it seemed.

Those who knew him knew he wasn't unfeeling. He wasn't cold, time-worn stone. His silence was born from a different source.

The stoic man had learned much in life through watching. He internalized, processing from afar. Rude was keenly observant and what he lacked in loud, showy displays of emotion, he made up for in calm ability to listen.

Rude was the realist. He was rational, though not in the same way as Tseng. He was their rock -- present and level-headed; words clear-cut and straight to the point.

It was because of this that he found himself in room 118 giving Tseng news that was neither good nor bad, but realistic, painfully true and what he deserved.

And though Tseng nodded curtly and his words didn't explicitly say it, Rude knew that he had been thankful.

**(I)**

Tseng often pondered the competency of others. It was all part and parcel of the inherent portion of his personality that was set to 'control freak' as Reno often described.

He needed to have at least some small grasp on his surroundings.

Laying in his own hospital bed, while tight-lipped nurses milled about with no answers to his very basic questions, Tseng had never felt so frustrated. So powerless, on the precipice of the truth.

He knew from the news reports. He knew from quiet murmurs. He knew because something felt _off_ and he couldn't place it.

The building had burned. The company had toppled. The president…

But he didn't know. He couldn't know. He needed to know.

When Rude entered his room wordlessly, face blank and fists clenched, Tseng knew. It was a bitter, acidic truth, but he knew.

And for the time being that was all he needed.

**  
(Zero.)**

They were guardians, he had been told. Creatures millennia old with only the basic of reasoning; programmed with a purpose. To survive.

Protect.

They were guardians and he should have remembered that. But admitting his mistakes mattered little when there was no going back. When there was nothing that could be done.

There on the seventieth floor, overlooking the vastness of what was his, there was no escape from what was to come. Answering for his sins and those which his last name had wrought. He was a threat long before launching an attack on WEAPON itself. A threat long before even existing. The events transpiring were just as unavoidable as the end that was fast approaching.

For once there truly was nothing Rufus Shinra could do to change his own destiny and it was almost calming. All that was left was to stand his ground and wait and accept wrongdoings for which there was no penance. He could only wish otherwise; hope vainly for some small show of mercy.

But he would not beg.

And soon enough he could see inevitability rising in the horizon, more blinding than the morning sun.

And when the time came, searing and white-hot it felt like judgment. 


End file.
